


Bloom

by sunflowerbright



Series: Day by Drabble [56]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 22:27:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerbright/pseuds/sunflowerbright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Had she still been alive to do so, Mary is sure her grandmother would have complained about the flowers adorning her grave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloom

**Author's Note:**

> Not-So-Bleak Midwinter prompt #28

[ ](http://s23.photobucket.com/albums/b371/mrstater/Day%20By%20Drabble/?action=view&current=1361414_56633554.jpg)

 

There is something very morbid about putting flowers on a grave, or so Mary has always thought. She knows that it is to make everything seem less morose, but to her it has always been more of a mockery: putting something fresh and beautiful over a decaying corpse, watching as the flowers wither in rapid succession as well.

It’s even worse when the decaying corpse is someone you know. Someone you loved.

”She would complain about this,” her father’s voice drifts towards her. ”She would say that it was a waste of perfectly fine flowers that the living could gaze upon. If we had brought none, she would have complained that we didn’t appreciate her in death, just as we didn’t appreciate her in life.”

Mary snorts at that. ”And if she had been here, she would have complained about the colour of the flowers, and why wasn’t it lilies instead of roses? And who in the world had cut them so uneven and why are the ribbons so frayed?” 

Her father laughs out loud at that, a slightly shaking hand reaching up to clasp her shoulder. She lets him lean on her, because this is his mother and he is as hit by this as she is.

“I don’t think grandmother would have complained about the tree though,” she quietly says, eyes rising to look at the pale, pink flowers blooming on the branch that is reaching over Violet Crawley’s tombstone.

“Yes,” her father agrees. “She would have liked that.”


End file.
